Touché
by MLaw
Summary: This was prompted after some cousins read my derring-do story, "The Fat Tuesday Affair," it. No summary as that might spoil things, but think rapiers and France. Originally posted on Live Journal with interesting photo illustrations.
1. Chapter 1

"**Touché"**

"_Et-la__ _and there!_" One of the fencers shouted the traditional phrase as he made a hit on his opponent. The style was easily recognizable as he charged aggressively, cutting with the sabre across his opponents face mask and scoring. The style of course was Russian.

The two men had been sparring for quite some time and decided to end their workout with a match. It lasted less than three minutes with the Russian scoring the enough points to win. His opponent scored a few hits, but not anywhere near the requisite number of fifteen.

"That's bout." the judge called out, bringing an end to the match.

The two men removed their steel mesh masks before shaking hands with their free hands, while maintaining a grip on their weapons with the other.

"Illya, you have got to show me how to do that move, it really is indefensible." Charlie Robbins laughed.

"Oh no my friend, I do not give away my secrets, but I will tell you it is defensible. You just have to puzzle it out for yourself." He smiled slyly.

They walked off the piste, past the weight lifting area in the UN.C.L.E. gymnasium when someone yelled to watch out, but it was too late as a rack of dumbbells collapsed, falling on top of Kuryakin as he pushed Charlie out of the way.

The Russian was knocked out cold, and rushed immediately to medical. There Illya awoke, his eyes fluttering as he tried to focus them on a familiar face bent over and staring at him.

"Napoleon?This bed is not very comfortable." lllya mumbled, noting the mattress was rock hard.

"_Qui monsieur_what sir?"_

Illya leaned up on his elbows, wondering why Napoleon was speaking French to him and addressing him so formally. Suddenly he looked down, noticing his attire. He last remembered being dressed in a fencing jacket, knickers, white sox and fencing shoes. Now he was clothed in knee-high leather boots, black trousers, a billowing white ruffled blouse, red waist coat and a sky blue silk jacket. He reached up, removing from his head in dismay, a brocaded black tricorn hat with white and blue ostrich plumes.

He was laying on the ground outdoors and not in a comfy bed in medical.

"_Qu'est-ce l'enfer?_what the hell?_" He found himself speaking French.

"You are a clod-hopping bumpkin, monsieur." Napoleon scowled. "You rudely crashed into me, interrupting my afternoon wenching and now you'll pay." He was surrounded by a bevy of buxom beauties, a few in a state of near undress as their white peasant blouses had slipped far down the shoulder, revealing their ample bosoms.

"_Qu'est-ce c'est des conneries_what is this bullshit!"_ Illya blurted out. "Where are we? Napoleon I have a very bad headache and am not in the mood for one of your practical jokes!"

"I'll have you watch your mouth," Napoleon said. "There are ladies present."

"Ladies? I think not." Illya mumbled, rubbing his head."And your accent is still awful." He must have gotten a harder hit than he thought as he remembered that rack of weights coming down on him. "Is Charlie alright?"

Napoleon grabbed him by his jacket, pulling him up from the ground."

"That's it, I'll meet you behind the _Cathédrale Saint-Louis_, in the old _Quartier Saint-Louis_ neighbourhood at noon. He put his hand on the pommel of his rapier, then released Illya, letting him drop to the ground.

"Napoleon, what is this? What is going on? And why are you dressed... why are _we_ costumed this way?"

His partner was clothed in silver grey jacket and breeches, with lace cuffs and collar, typical of 17th century France, the dark feathered hat on his head was beyond description. Over his shoulder was draped a leather baldric that held a scabbard and sword. Atop that was a royal blue velvet cape with the an ornate silver, white and gold cross embroidered over the left breast. It was unmistakably recognizable as the garb of a Louis the XIII Musketeer.

"Why do you keep calling me _Napoleon _bumpkin? Ye gods you are a _stinky _one; I detect the noxious odor of barn animals!" Napoleon pulled a silk handkerchief from his shirt sleeve, wiping the hand that had held the Russian. "I am _Isaac de Porthau,_ first cousin once removed of the_Comte de Troisville__, captain of the__Musketeers of the Guard__, _and first cousin of_Armand d'Athos__,_ but I am better known as Porthos, Musketeer to the King of France. Are all you country people this ignorant?"

Illya shook his head. "I must be dreaming? I was in the gym at U.N.C.L.E. headquarters and was hit in the head by a wayward dumbbell."

"I do not know your Uncle, Monsieur _Stinky_. Regardless, I will have satisfaction at noon." Napoleon gathered three of the women to him, nuzzling his face to their necks and breasts with a satisfied growl as he escorted them into a nearby tavern.

Illya picked himself up from the street, careful to avoid the horse droppings that surrounded him. He shook his head again, questioning his surroundings.

"This is a dream, if I go lie down somewhere and close my eyes then I will wake up in medical." That was his plan and he was going to stick to it.

He turned without looking, intending to find a tree under which he could position himself comfortably, but instead walked headfirst into another person dressed as a Musketeer.

"You idiot," a female voice howled at him, " Watch where you're going peasant."

"April?" Illya stared at her. She was richly dressed in Frenchman's clothing from the period, over which was draped the same Musketeers cape that Napoleon sported.

"Non, my son. You are mistaken it is September," she answered.

"No I meant your name is April. Why are you dressed as a King's Musketeer? What has Napoleon put you up to now?"

"I don't know, it's _your _dream," she smiled. "Now out of my way, I have an appointment with a priest."

"But April, it is all so vivid." He latched onto her arm, restraining her.

"How dare you lay hands on me you impertinent fool. You'll pay for your audacity! Meet me out behind the _Cathédrale Saint-Louis_ at midday."

Illya sighed at this second challenge. "And who is it I shall be meeting then?"

"Aramis, Musketeer to the King of course." She spun on her heels, heading toward the same tavern that Napoleon had disappeared into.

"_Bozhe moi_, this is one hell of a dream." Illya declared as he headed out of the city, still hoping to find that tree.

He wandered for a bit, finding himself a large oak behind what looked like an old church, and there he settled himself, closing his eyes.

"_Illya?" A voice called to him. " You okay tovarisch?" _He saw a blurry image of his partner's face, standing over him in medical. There was a sudden swirl of colors and he felt dizzy.

"Napoleon, I was having a strange dream, I... " He suddenly felt something poking him in the side and opened his eyes.

Illya found himself looking along the blade of a rapier that was pointed at him, and in the hand of Napoleon...no Porthos. He was apparently still dreaming.

"Well, you're here nice and early. I suppose that's actually something in your favor being timely for a bumpkin. It's a shame, perhaps you could have been trained as a decent manservant, but that won't be possible as I'll be killing you shortly."

Illya stood cautiously," Not if I can help it." He drew his rapier, allowing himself to be caught up in his dream.

April Dancer appeared a moment later. "Say what's going on here? Porthos, I'll have you know that fool is my scheduled duel."

"Aramis my dear fellow, he is mine,I saw him first. " Porthos returned his attention to Illya. "Say, what's your name bumpkin so I know what to put on your gravestone? I don't think _Stinky_ would be appropriate."

Illya rolled his eyes. "You know my name."

Napoleon looked at him strangely." Monsieur, how would I possibly know your name? We met but a few hours ago, and it was hardly a proper meeting."

"Illya, my name is Illya." He said sharply.

"Ill-ee-ya?"Porthos repeated.

"Good God man you still do not pronounce it properly, and this is my dream!" The Russian blurted out.

"Illya?" April questioned. "Non, that's not your name. It's D'Artagnan you goose."

"Fine, then it is D'Artagnan," he huffed.

"That's a Gascon name." Napoleon said. "Though your accent sounds unfamiliar. Aramis and I are both from Gascony. That is shame to have to kill a fellow Gascon but alors..."

Illya quickly recalled the details from the Dumas novel. D'Artagnan was a young, impoverished nobleman who came to make his fortune in Paris. He was brave, noble, ambitious, crafty, and intelligent. A Romantic hero, driven by love and ruled by chivalry, but was occasionally prone to fall into amoral behavior.

The character of Porthos was self-important, somewhat vain, and enjoyed outfitting himself handsomely; but for all that, he was a valiant fighter and a courageous friend. Illya smiled for a second, realizing his subconscious had aptly filled the role of Porthos with that of Napoleon Solo.

April falling into the part of Aramis was a puzzle to him. That character was a handsome young man, quiet and somewhat foppish. He constantly protested that he was only temporarily in the Musketeers, and that any day now he would return to the Church to pursue his true calling. April had hinted at early retirement as she'd become engaged to a man she refused to name, but that was hardly a religious calling.

Illya stuck out his chin deciding to go along with the charade."I am no bumpkin. I come from an impoverished but noble family. My name is _Charles Ogier de Batz de Castelmore, Comte d'Artagnan."_

Porthos looked him up and down. "Impoverished indeed. I wouldn't be caught dead in such clothing. Where is your sense of fashion man? No matter, so Gascon and Comte d'Artagnan, shall we have at it. I have an appointment with my tailor, then with a delicious Countess." Porthos grinned.

"Hmm, still the same even in my dreams." Illya said. "Alright so be it, let us have this duel so I can wake up."

Porthos and Aramis gave each other a quick glance and a shrug, not understanding what the blond D'Artagnan was going on about.

"Engarde!" Illya smiled, not waiting for them to ready themselves as he charged, turning his sword arm and enveloping both their outstretched blades at the same time.

They battled back and forth, Illya parrying and performing riposte easily using both his dagger and rapier.

"That is not French style,"Porthos shouted, what sort of fencing style is this, it's not elegant at all!"

"Is is athletic and aggressive,"Illya hissed proudly, "Russian style." He nicked Napoleon on the forearm, drawing first blood. "No, this cannot be. I cannot harm you." He stepped back, lowering his blade. "This is a dream. I would never...I cannot harm you Napoleon."

"Again with the Napoleon? You've dropped your guard, that's a foolish mistake monsieur." Porthos snarled.

"_Interrompre_halt!_" Called the leader of a group of mounted soldiers who rode up behind the duelling men. Illya's mouth hung open, it was George, George Dennell. The men, unlike Aramis and Porthos were dressed in black capes with red crosses emblazoned on them. They were the guards of the notorious Cardinal Richelieu.

Dennell called out to them. "Though you are _Mousquetaires du roi__ _Musketeers to the King_, you know full well that duelling is forbidden. You Porthos and Aramis will pay for it with a visit to the _Bastille Saint-Antoine_, your friend however will face _la guillotine."_

Ah yes the Bastille, Illya mused, "Louis's chief minister, Cardinal Richelieu, was credited with transforming the Bastille into a more formal use as a state prison. Richelieu broke with Henry IV's tradition of the Bastille's captain being a member of the French aristocracy. The prison was filled with thousands of poor souls, many of them innocent. Illya paused in his thoughts, addressing Dennell directly.

"George, take this with an open mind, but like hell I will!" The Russian shouted, raising his rapier toward the soldiers." Napoleon and April stepped beside him.

"I think this makes the odds more even," Porthos called out.

"Suit yourself." George replied, awkwardly slipping off his mount. "Get em' boys!" He shouted out, then stepped back, positioning himself safely out of the way.

The six soldiers charged the three, while Dennell moved farther away to watch the carnage, feeling assured his men outnumbering the others would have done with them in no time...he hoped.

Napoleon, Illya and April, or rather Porthos, D'Artagnan and Aramis engaged two men each, dispatching them quickly, barely breaking a sweat.

The Captain, seeing the tide change so quickly climbed on his horse and took off, spurring the animal to make a hasty retreat.

"Should we not go after him?" Illya asked.

"No, we'll go back to the tavern, I think I have a thirst that needs quenching." Porthos smiled," Not to mention a certain Countess to meet."


	2. Chapter 2

Do not tell me, " Illya asked. "_Madame Coquenard_?" The Russian asked blandly.

"No, and how could you possibly know that? No one knows of my affair with Madame." Porthos demanded. "You just arrived in the city."

"Ummm, people talk and that is what they were saying about the great Porthos, a lover extraordinaire." This was getting more bizarre, Illya thought to himself.. Why was his dream going this way? Perhaps it was because Napoleon was a ladies man, just as Porthos was. Illya thought he wanted to wake up, but now he was intrigued as to how this hallucination was going to turn out."

"Oh well, when you put it that way, fine. Let's go, my thirst is growing, and I feel like more wenching, a good sword fight does that to me." Porthos laughed.

"You're always that way,"April said. "You never miss a chance to chase after a pretty girl."

Illya tried not to snicker.

"You know for a bumpkin, noble or not you fight well with a sword. Perhaps we may not kill you after all, my fellow Gascon." She smiled, giving him a hard thump on the back.

Illya was startled at her contact, unaccustomed to such boisterous behaviour from April, yet he reminded himself that it wasn't her, it was Aramis.

He took a leap in logic. "Tell me Porthos, your Countess...she would not happen to be a bleach blonde, would she?"

"Bleach blonde? You speak very strangely for a Gascon. My Countess is a stunning creature, lithe and her hair is so fair, nearly white. Her eyes are captivating. Here is a photograph of her. "

"Angelique." Illya muttered, "Why is this no surprise?"

"No Angelique, though that is an intriguing name; the woman in question is Milady de Winter."

"A most deceitful and treacherous creature." Illya hissed. "How you can be with a woman who is your enemy and could kill you if it were her whim; this I will never understand." His dislike for Angelique was coloring his dream just as it did in the waking world.

"True true, but a little danger adds to the spice of life."

"Same old Napoleon." Illya muttered softly, not letting his partner...rather, Porthos hear.

They returned to the part of the city where Illya's first meeting with Porthos and Aramis began, entering the tavern. Weaving in and out of the passers by, both rich and poor, on their daily business. Horse drawn carriages, carts pulled by steer, sheep being herded off to market. The sights, sounds and intense smells assaulted Illya's senses.

It was dark, smelled of smoke from a roaring fireplace as well as a musty dampness. There were a few roughly hewn tables scattered around the main room, with plenty of serving women there to fulfill the many needs of travellers who graced the taverns presence.

"Ah Porthos! I missed you!" One of the women called out to him.

"My beauty, I haven't been gone that long." He took her in his arms, fondling her breasts while kissing her, yet his other hand crept beneath her skirt.

"Porthos, there is a time and a place for that!" A voice called out, coming from a man seated in the shadows by the fireplace. He was simply dressed, a white short sleeve shirt and a lab apron over his clothes and no Musketeer cape covering his shoulders. Puffs of smoke encircled his head, coming from a long white clay pipe he held in his hand.

Illya sneezed from the smell of it; wondering why he would have allergies in his dreams. Yet it was a distinctive and familiar scent that rose above the other odors in the tavern, Isle of Dogs # 22.

"This, D'Artagnan is my cousin, the dour Athos." Porthos announced.

"_To be precise young man, I am Armand, Seigneur de Sillègue, d'Athos, et d'Autevielle_"Lord of __Sillègue__,__Athos__, and__Autivielle_ _b_ut I am better known as Athos, formerly of the King's Musketeers. He stood as he recited his lineage, and there was with no doubt in Illya's mind, it was Alexander Waverly.

That image struck the Russian as funny, forcing him to not laugh out loud. Alexander Waverly as Athos? The man was easily in his seventies. The character of Athos was the most important of the Three Musketeers, so that at least made sense given Waverly's leadership position.

Athos was a bit of a father figure to d'Artagnan and Illya had sensed that same thing from the first time he met the Old Man in Moskva. It was that feeling of a father figure that must be influencing his dream this way.

Athos was older than his comrades, but in the book he was still a young man. Like Waverly, he was distinguished in every way-intellect, appearance, bravery, swordsmanship-yet unlike Waverly, he was tortured by a deep melancholy, the source of which no one knew. His secret of course was the Lady De Winter. A capable and beautiful spy, Milady was remorseless and unrepentant for her countless "misdeeds."

In the novel, Milady has a secret, and she kills anyone who finds it out-her left shoulder was branded with the Fleur-de-Lis, a mark put on the worst criminals. She was revealed to be the wife of Athos and after being expelled by him, she became an agent of Cardinal Richelieu, working as his spy, assassin and messenger.

She steals the jewels that Anne of Austria, wife of King Louis XIII, entrusted to her lover, the English minister Duke of Buckingham, but the intended scandal is averted. D'Artagnan himself later meets Milady and falls under her spell, though he also pursues an affair with her maid, Kitty.

Illya could only imagine who was going to show up in those roles."Where the hell was this dream taking him?" He had never experienced one in which he was self aware, knowing that he was asleep.

"So Monsieur D'Artagnan, what brings you to Versaille?" Athos asked, turning his attention from a beaker full of chemicals from a workbench that was beside the fireplace, starting to mix them. He poured the concoction into a tankard of ale, handing it to Illya.

He accepted it warily and did not drink. "They would not happen to have vodka here would they?"

"Vodka, what is vodka young man?

"_Chyort,_ my dream and I cannot even have vodka?"

"D'Artagnan, for a Gascon you have an odd way about you. What words are these that you're speaking dear? They're foreign to my ears." Aramis questioned.

"It is Russian."

"_Russe? _How could you, a country bump...a Gascon know that language?" Porthos asked.

"Lucky I guess," Illya shrugged. "I speak many languages."

Porthos, Aramis and Athos burst out into a fit of laughter.

"And a talented liar in each of them I'm sure. Only Porthos has the luck. " Aramis giggled.

"Yes," He grinned," Lucky in life, lucky in love." Porthos pulled another of the tavern girls to his lap, kissing her as she squealed and squirmed, then pushed her away with a playful slap to the rump. "I think you are a very confused young man, D'Artagnan." he said.

The door to the tavern opened, and a woman wearing a dark hooded cape stepped inside. She uncovered her head slowly, revealing pale blonde hair

_"Angelique!_" Illya growled, detesting her very presence.


	3. Chapter 3

A woman accompanying her, and he recognized her as Kitty, a new girl in communications that he'd had his eye on. She smiled at him, shyly averting her eyes. Illya thought perhaps his was one not one of the Thrush agents minions, or relatives.

"Monsieur, I think you are mistaken. I am the _Comtesse de La Fère_, but you may address me as Milady, Milady de Winter, Baroness of Sheffield." She gestured to the other woman." This creature is my lady in waiting, Kitty."

"Whatever." Illya mumbled, he didn't like the way this dream was going now and decided again that he wanted to wake up. "Please someone pinch me and wake me up?"

"D'Artagnan, you truly are mad." Aramis elbowed him.

"Athos ma cher." Angelique addressed him with familiarity.

"You are not welcome here Madam," he answered, taking a sip of his drink.

"So you still drink that dreadful Aquitine?" She laughed charmingly.

No answer was given to her, and he repeated that she was not welcome.

"I have a proposition for you. The Duke of Buckingham has in his possession jewels belonging to the Queen. She wants them back before his Majesty, King Louis discovers them missing. She is to wear them to a special ball in five days time."

"And what is it you want us to do, as it were?" Athos asked.

"The Cardinal wishes you to discreetly retrieve those jewels from Buckingham before the Queen embarasses the King. Louis will have no choice but to investigate and a scandal will no doubt ensue if the jewels are missing."

"Yes I'm sure the Cardinal cares so much about that." Porthos sniped.

"I do not question his Eminence, I only obey. Now will you do it, darling?"

Porthos glanced towards Aramis, and finally to Athos, seeing a sadness in the man's eyes. Milady seemed to have that effect on him, but no one knew why.

Athos turned his back to Milady, facing the fire as he puffed again on his pipe, not giving her his answer.

"Milady, I will visit you later with our reply." Porthos bowed with a playful wink.

Illya rolled his eyes, again. This scenario was not exactly following the plotline in the book. In Dumas' tale, Milady stole the jewelry to expose the affair between the Duke of Buckingham and the Queen of France and the Cardinal planned to steal the throne from the inexperienced Louis XIII.

"Monsieur Porthos, might I accompany you when you leave to meet with Milady. She has a reputation for being devious and I do not trust her." Illya said, looking to Athos, knowing the secret of Milady."Sir?"

"Yes, D'Artagnon, that is quite true. I know you are not happy about this Porthos, but I agree. Aramis and D'Artagnan will accompany you to meet with her. Now dismissed, if you don't mind. I'd like a few moments to myself to catch up on your reports."He turned his attention back to the fire and refilling his pipe.

Illya crossed his arms, quite satisfied with himself. He'd save Napoleon from Angelique here as well.

"Well we need to eat before we embark,' Porthos said." Innkeeper, we need food and ale, more ale."

"I have no money," Illya said softly.

"Fine, I'll pay this time." Porthos said. "You look like you could use a good meal anyway. Mr. Chang, please your finest fare and none of that swill you feed to travelers.

"_Xiānshēng mǎshàng_yes sir right away."_

Aramis sat on a bench near the window reading the latest copy of _Ingenue_ magazine, commenting about the newest fashions, when the food arrived. Illya looked at it quizzically, thinking the girl on the cover was quite attractive.

These odd bits of reality kept popping into his subconscious, but why he did not know.

"My finest Messieurs. Egg foo yung, lo mein, dumplings, and chicken with cashew nuts, oh yes of course egg rolls as well."

Illya looked at a communal bowl anticipating his favorite Chinese foods as the man placed it in the middle of the rough hewn table. This did not look like what he expected, as it was filled with cooked turnips, potatoes, cabbage and bits of grizzled meat. It was the food he once subsisted on in the Soviet Union.

Illya waited until everyone had dug in, each filling their own smaller bowls, and feeding themselves with chopsticks.

He took what was left into his bowl, but found himself barely able to swallow his first and what would be his last mouthful. It was all he could do to keep from spitting it out. It tasted like fish, all of it. The one food that Illya hated. it reminded him of when he was in the concentration camp, and the orphanage. They ate nothing but fish, fish broth, fish everything. Even if it wasn't fish, the food tasted like it.

Illya pushed his bowl away, finding himself uninterested in eating.

"What the meal is not to your liking young man?" Athos asked.

"Fish does not agree with me."

"Truly D'Artagnan you are a strange one. There is no fish in this meal."

"Umm, I meant the food, is not agreeing with me...I am unaccustomed to such a hearty fare."

At this point he was wishing he had a nice cold glass of vodka, but knew that just wasn't going to happen. Illya looked at the ale, then took a chance and swallowed some. To his surprise it was good, a surprisingly chilled ale. At least something positive was happening in this dream. He had another, and another and lost count as he laid his head on the table to rest his eyes.

"_Excuse me?" A feminine voice spoke out." Mr. Kuryakin, can you try to look at me? Come on Illya."_

_His eyes opened slowly, focusing on the face of Nurse Walsh._

"_There you are," she smiled. "That's some lump you have on your head and you weren't even out on a mission were you? Illya...Illya?"_

.

"Wake up, it's time to go see Milady and to tell her we we'll rescue the jewels from the Duke." Porthos announced.

Illya silently cursed, he'd almost woken up from this delusion.

They left, heading to the Chateau where Milady called home just outside of the city.

"Magnificent domicile isn't it?"Porthos grinned, one of the best penthouses in area"

Illya stared at it for a moment; it was Napoleon's apartment building. "A little _different _for a chateau," he sniped.

"That's because you're used to living in four story walk up filled with periodicals and science journals."

At this point Illya had given up reacting to those bits of reality that were bleeding into his dream, trying not to make sense of them.

Porthos took hold of the heavy brass door knocker, tapping it with three echoing booms.

The door opened with a creak and there Angelique stood smiling seductively, wrapped in nothing but a fur stole."Ah darling, so you've come after all."

Porthos kissed her hand, then began working his way up her arm, shoulder, neck, finally kissing her lips passionately. He turned to D'Artagnan. "A little privacy if you don't mind, you can wait around the corner in the barn." He waved Illya off with a dismissive flick of his hand, and slammed the door closed in the Russian's face.

"What else is new?" Illya grumbled, "Never room at the inn for me when a woman is involved." He traipsed off to the barn, thinking again if he went to sleep, he'd awake back in medical and this nightmare would be at an end.


	4. Chapter 4

It was obvious that she was flirting with him, and since he'd had interest in her already, Kitty from communications that is, Illya decided what the heck. He shrugged absentmindedly, reached out and pulled her to him in a deep, passionate kiss.

One thing led to another, and he was naked, making love to her; remembering to pull the familiar foil packet from his trousers, and putting on a condom.

When they were spent, he closed his eyes holding the girl in his arms. He must have dozed off, for only a second but when he opened his eyes he received another shock.

"_Chyort vozmi'_son of a bit..!_" He scrambled, as he cursed. "Angelique?"

"Of course it's me darling. Really there's no need to be uncouth and insulting. I have to admit for such a nasty, cold hearted Russian you weren't bad in the hay," she purred, then giggled. "But admittedly Napoleon is better, he knows what I like."

Angelique giggling? Did he just have sex with her and not Kitty? Illya suddenly felt befouled.

He grabbed his clothes, quickly stepping into his britches, disgusted with himself. "Not possible," he muttered, "I was with Kitty." He slipped on one boot then the other and left the barn in haste.

He could hear Angelique laughing behind him as he walked out.

"D'Artagnan, a little wenching of your own I see. So how was the fair Kitty?" Porthos smiled, watching the girl run out, holding her clothes around her while picking straw out of her hair.

Illya stiffened his lower lip, refusing to answer.

The silence was broken as Aramis, mounted on her horse, rode up to greet them. "So where are we off to _mes amis_?"

"To Calais, Buckingham will await us there to turn over the jewels."Porthos called.

"_C'est impossible_. To Calais and back to Paris within five days." Aramis burst out.

"Then we better get going." Porthos laughed."D'Artagnan, get the horses."

"Get them yourself Porthos, do not order me around like a stable boy." Illya barked back at him as he finished dressing, adjusting his baldric and rapier, and still annoyed at his supposed encounter with Angelique.

"I decide not to kill you, feed you out of the goodness of my heart, put you in a position to bed a beautiful woman and this is the thanks I get? Porthos put his hand to the pommel of his sword, ready to draw it.

"Alright, alright!" Illya waved his hand at him, "Why not, it is just like doing your paperwork for you is it not?"

"That's not fair, I don't force you to help me with my reports, I always ask."

Illya jerked his head, hearing those words. "Napoleon is that you?"

"A mad man" Porthos groaned. I have aligned myself with a lunatic."

Kuryakin disappeared for a few minutes, retrieving their horses and together with the Musketeers headed out towards the coast.

They rode the beasts of burden hard, stopping only to change their mounts to fresh ones in order to make better time. They arrived in Calais just before dusk, making their way to a ship that was anchored in the port.

They had removed their Musketeer attire, not wanting to stand out in the crowds of people, or be noticed boarding a British ship. The docks were filled with the comings and goings of wagons and horses loaded with goods and it was easy for them to blend in.

"That one,"Porthos pointed out. "The Sovereign of the Seas."

They tied their horses, boarding the large masted ship. Making their way up the gang plank, they stepped onto the deck, but were challenged by the first mate.

"Who goes there?"

"I am Porthos and I have an appointment with Monsieur Villeirs. Permission to come aboard."

"Yes, he is expecting you. Come with me gentlemen." The man had an obvious British accent. He lead them to the Captain's stateroom, announcing them to the man who awaited their arrival. Few knew him by his true name, he was simply known to all as the Duke of Buckingham, a man of great influence and paramour to the Queen of France.

"Hello mates," came a very familiar greeting. A richly attired man sat at a large oak table holding a large glass goblet of beer, and was eating a bowl of chicken noodle soup. There was a bowl of green jello on the table, but that appeared to be untouched.

"Mark!" Illya greeted him.

"Mark what guv? What do you want me to make note of?"

Illya looked confused for a second. "You, your name is Mark, Mark Slate."

"I beg to differ sir but the name's _George Villiers, 1st Duke of Buckingham_."

"Pardon my companions ignorance." Porthos interrupted, pointing to his finger to his temple to indicate that Illya was touched in the head. "We are here to retrieve the jewels belonging to the Queen, and will return them to her poste haste prevent a scandal. We must make haste as we have little time to get them to Paris."

"Ah yes the magnificent creature herself, Rosy Shlagenheimer." Mark smiled, "excellent equestrian that woman but I had a devil of a time with that awful accent of her. I could have used the help of a Henry Higgins."

"Wait, the Queen's name is Anne, Anne of Austria, daughter of Philip III of Spain." Illya corrected him.

"Blimey mate, you couldn't be more wrong." He looked to Porthos, who simply shrugged.

"Please M'Lord Buckingham, time's a wasting dear." Aramis spoke up.

The Duke produced an ornately carved box made of oak, and opened it to reveal a wondrous jewelled diamond necklace with rubies set to resemble roses along with a matching earring set of earrings.." Magnificent aren't they? Roses for my Rosy."

Illya surmised that he wouldn't wake up now until this mission was finished, that's what this dream was about, completing a mission. Regardless of what century or reality it was, the mission came first, however absurd some of its elements seemed.

They left the ship, mounting their horses,heading out on the main road that would take them to Paris. As the sun began to set, they needed to find a place to rest, eat and find fresh horses to complete their journey.

Porthos and his companions sought shelter at a small chateau. Dismounting in front of the building; the only sound they heard was the crunch of their boots on the gravel path leading to the door.

The night sky was suddenly lit up by a flash of lightning, followed by a rolling boom of thunder.

"One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi," Illya muttered using a colloquial method to estimate the distance of the storm. It took a five count until he heard the thunder, divided by five, for five seconds per mile, calculating the storm was roughly a mile away.

Illya knocked on the door, and to his surprise it was answered by Kitty.

"Oh Monsieur D'Artagnan, what a wonderful surprise."

"What are you doing here? Is this is your home?"

"It is the home of my mistress, Milady."

"But the Chateau we met you at in Versaille...before, that was not hers?"

"Oui. It was hers as well. We come to this one to be closer to the coast."

Violent lightning flashed again followed by a roar of thunder, driving Kitty directly into Illya's arms. "Oh my goodness, such things frighten me."

"It would be better if we came inside Mademoiselle." He tried easing past her, waving for the others to follow.

"Mais non, Monsieur D'Artagnan, that would not be wise. My mistress has...men here. Soldiers of the Cardinal. There is some plot afoot."

"Merci ma cherie," Illya said, putting his finger to her lips to silence her. "Show me where they are," he whispered, waiving for the others to stay put.

She took him by the hand, leading him down a corridor to a door leading to the room where Milady and the men were.

Illya waved Kitty off, not wanting her to be seen helping them. He listened carefully to Angelique as she ordered the men around.

"You are to waylay the Musketeers and that blond bumpkin on the road from Calais and take the jewels from them. The Cardinal must be free of any suspicion and his request for the Musketeers help must present him as looking out for the Queen and King's interest."

"What do we do with the jewels Milady after we have dispatched the Musketeers and the Gascon?"

"Bring them back to me. A gift from the Cardinal for my loyalty." She purred. "I'll have the stones reset so as to not be recognized. Hmmm, it'll have to be something unusual perhaps. Angelique held a hand mirror up to look at herself, stroking her throat vainly. "Perhaps something with a bird?"

That was all Illya needed to hear, and backed away from the door but his foot put pressure on a loose floorboard and the loud creak gave his presence away.

"_Chyort!"_ he growled as he took off back down the corridor. The Cardinals men were not far behind. "Run!" he called out as he passed Napoleon and April.

They flew out the door of the chateau into the pouring rain, climbing up onto their horses and galloping off into the darkness; the road illuminated by the spectacular lightning as it flashed in the night sky.


	5. Chapter 5

The horses were tired, and their labored breathing was of concern as the traveled along the darkened road. The Cardinals men could be heard gaining on them.

Suddenly Aramis' horse stumbled, sending her flying down into the mud, just missing her as it rolled, heaving for air.

Porthos and D'Artagnan pulled their exhausted rides to a stop, skidding along on the wet road.

"We hold our ground here!" Porthos called out,

A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, allowing them to see the approaching soldiers.

Illya pulled April up from a large puddle. "Damn," she moaned, I'll never get these mud stains out.. The rain poured down from their hats as they threw back their soaked capes and together they drew their swords, assuming the _engarde_ position as they awaited their foes.

No less than eight of the Cardinal's men reined their horses to a stop and dismounted.

"So here we end it!" Porthos called out.

"Oui, you Gascon pigs!" The soldiers drew their rapiers pointing them straight at Porthos, Aramis and D'Artagnan.

"To hell with this," Illya called out as he reached beneath his drenched silk jacket, drawing out his Walther, aiming and emptying the entire clip of sleep darts into the soldiers. "Eight darts to a clip, just enough," he thought how ironic that was.

One by one the men dropped into the mud with a thud and a splash.

"I was just about to do that," Napoleon huffed, drawing his musket from his saddle.

Illya snickered, then walked off, gathering the fresh mounts from the soldiers. "We have a mission to complete, _n'est-ce pas?"_

"Fine!" Porthos said, taking one of the reins from Illya's hand." _Maintenant, allons-y_now let's go."_

"_Allez_go!" _Illya called out with a laugh as he dug in his spurs. The horse reared up and when it's hooves hit the ground, it galloped off at full speed.

They arrived in time for the Queen to save face, and foiling the Cardinal's plan. Richelieu showed a mild displeasure upon seeing the jewelry gracing the throat of the Queen.

The King entered the ballroom with great pomp and when Illya saw him the thought the man bore a striking resemblance to some actor, but the Russian couldn't recall his name or where he'd seen him before. He felt no inclination to explore this part of his dream.

Milady was nowhere to be found. As usual Angelique had made herself scarce when her plans had gone awry, but the lovely Kitty was there at court, having been abandoned by her mistress. She worked her way through the elegantly appointed crowd until she made it to Illya's side.

"Ah D'Artagnan, you have returned safe and sound...to me perhaps?" She flashed an alluring smile, batting her eyes at him.

Illya took her by the hand, leading her off to a corner of the throne room and pulled the young woman into his arms, kissing her on the lips. It was a long, passionate embrace.

"You have my deepest gratitude Mademoiselle, you saved my life... all our lives, but now it is time for me to leave. My apologies to you Kitty, much that I would enjoy being here with you, but there is a real Kitty where I am from and I would like having the opportunity to get to know you, I mean _her _there. I have heard a saying that rings true, _there is no place like home _and that is where I would like to be. I have an U.N.C.L.E. to return to.

"Ah surely you would rather be with me and an old Uncle, monsieur?"

"Not this one, he is a special Uncle and very clever." He smiled, giving her another long kiss on."Not to fret my dear, I will see you again" He turned his attention from her and began to repeat, "There is no place like home," "The Russian said the phrase over and over, closing his eyes tightly, trying to will himself awake.

.

"Illya wake up honey, you _are _home. It's alright, " whispered April Dancer.

He continued mumbling,"There is no place like home."

"Illya wake up," Napoleon said firmly. "It's me _tovarisch,_ and you are home. You're safe in headquarters."

The Russian's eyes popped wide open, looking clear and focused, though the expression on his face was somewhat bewildered as he took in view of the sterile grey walls of his room. He was dressed in his light blue pajamas and was at last in a reasonably soft bed in medical.

April, leaning closest to his face and smiled at him. " Hi there goose."

"April is it really you?"

"Yes darling, it's me."

"Hello there, "Napoleon bent over his partners face, grinning at him. "Don't I count too?"

"Hey remember me, your old mate' Mark?" Slate joined the greeting committee.

Illya ran his fingers through his hair. "I had the strangest dream, I was somewhere... like being caught in time. You were there Napoleon, April and Mark, Mr. Waverly, George Dennell and even Angelique and a girl from communications named Kitty. I tried to get home but I couldn't."

"You'll be alright now chum; you've got quite a lump on your head," Napoleon said. "Just take it easy, it was a bad dream that's all. You had us worried for a bit, we all thought there for a minute you were going to leave us."

"No! It was not a dream. It was a real place. I was in 17th century France. And you - and you - and you were there." he pointed to each of his companions. "And the dangers were real. You Napoleon, and April were French Musketeers and..."

"Oy, what about me mate?" Mark asked.

"You were the Duke of Buckingham."

Slate grinned from ear to ear, "Hear that you ponces, I'm a Duke, while you're lowly swordsmen."

"This doesn't mean I'm going to address you as M'Lord." April teased, "So forget about it."

"I am not joking!" Illya insisted.

Napoleon, April and Mark looked at each other with concern. They'd all seen Illya hallucinate under the effects of Thrush drugs, but never from a bump on the head.

"Oh, we dream lots of silly things when we're out cold." April interjected. "There there dear, lie quiet now. You just had a bad dream. April patted him on the shoulder.

"You were doing an awful lot of moaning and puckering up Illya." Napoleon jibed. "Sounded more like it was a wet dream to me."

Illya pursed his lips as his face turned an interesting shade of red. He was not happy. " Nyet. I was on a mission, and could not leave until it had been completed. Does no one believe me?"

"Of course we believe you, chum." Napoleon, said that in hopes of placating his partner, seeing no need to upset him further. The effects of the concussion would subside and he'd come to his senses.

Right," The Russian grumbled, as did his stomach." I am hungry, any chance of food...but nothing with fish. Nothing."

Solo smiled, as that was a sure sign his partner was on the mend. They left him as soon as his steak and potato dinner was delivered, along with a generous helping of peach cobbler, and a nice pot of hot tea with raspberry jam.

Napoleon, April and Mark exited the room, heading for the elevator.

Mark looked at his watch. "Say it's a bit late, how about we get some dinner and catch a movie at the Loew's Paradise in the Bronx, they're showing "The Three Musketeers" with Gene Kelly and Lana Turner. Any one game?"

"Oh don't tell Illya," April giggled."The poor dear."

"At least not for a while." Mark winked.

Napoleon grinned, "Sounds like a plan! One for all and all for one!" That sent them into a fit of laughter as they stepped into the elevator

C'est finis...


End file.
